Protocols
by MaliceUnchained
Summary: A former IMC pilot must overcome the Militia's distrust of her, as well as her new Titan's hatred, as she takes up arms against her former comrades. Set slightly before the events of Titanfall 2. Rated M for strong language.


Eryn ran across the battlefield, automatic gunfire tearing up the ground around her as she did. She spotted a spire of rock to her right, kicking off from the ground as she triggered her jumpkit, unleashing a burst from her CAR as-

 _No. No, further back than that. Before all this._

The ship was coming apart around her, Tarina was dead from-

 _Too far. I don't much fancy recalling that...ever again. I need-_

Ice cold water washed over her, bringing her out of her unconscious reverie, and she shook her head to try and clear it. Daggers of cold seeped into her skin, through her scalp, her bare arms and through the thin vest she was left with, after the IMC had removed her jumpkit, her uniform jacket. She looked around at her surroundings once again, trying to make out any details that would help her escape, but she saw nothing of use through the wet blur in front of her eyes. With her hands restrained, she couldn't even wipe them clear to-

"Rise and shine, love," said a firm, menacing, female voice, accent with the same English accented Eryn herself had. "Time for us to have a little chat again. Now, what say you start telling us what we need to know?"

"Y-you could at least b-buy me a d-d-drink first," Eryn stammered, hating the fact that she was sensitive to the cold. Always had been, since-

A fist cracked across her face, splitting a gum and causing her to spit blood. More annoyingly, it stopped her slipping back into what she liked to call her 'mental safe space', where she let her consciousness slip away from the physical woes she suffered. It worked wonders in interrogations...usually. But then, she wasn't usually fatigued from hours of combat and half-starved.

"So, you like being funny, do ya?" the woman growled, and punched Eryn again. "Don't you worry love, when we're through with you you won't have much to laugh about."

Eryn glared at the woman, her black hair cut almost boyishly short on one side and left jaw-length on the other. A pity, she though – she might have been attractive if it hadn't been for the stupid hairdo and a malicious streak a mile wide. Then she caught sight of the insignia on the woman's shoulder, and gave a short, wheezing laugh.

"So...the IMC is still hiring mercenaries to do their dirty work? You another one of Blisk's outfit, or-"

She cried out in pain as the woman punched Eryn's leg, hitting the gunshot wound she'd taken there what felt like an eternity before.

"I'm done playin' around with you!" the woman shouted, her fingers curling around Eryn's throat. "Tell us what we need to know, or I will choke the fucking life out of you!"

Eryn fought for air as the merc tightened her grip, her vision swimming as she tried to lash out at her captor.

However, too long without rest or nourishment had taken its toll, and her attempts at breaking free grew weaker as her oxygen-starved brain finally found the memories she had hoped to lose herself in.

 _ **PROTOCOL 1: LINK WITH THE PILOT**_

Eryn Shaw, Pilot, formerly of the IMC, sank to her knees and struggled to catch her breath. They had told her the Gauntlet was going to be tough, but she was pretty sure they didn't usually involve live ammunition.

She lifted her head wearily, her dark blue eyes filled with fury as she glared at Aidan Genry, the Militia captain currently applauding her performance – her _latest_ performance, she noted, since they'd made her run the Gauntlet too many times to count.

"Good run, Shaw," he told her, offering her a rare smile. "You even took out the surprise mob of troopers we threw in for you. Nice work."

Eryn looked at the hole in her jacket sleeve, where a bullet had punched through her upper arm.

"They fucking shot me!"

"But you _survived_ ," he intoned, his accent reminiscent of Earth's Australian continent. "Means you're hard to kill, which to me means you're Milita material. Might take a while to work all of the IMC out of you, but we'll do it." He chuckled softly, before walking over and offering her a hand.

She accepted the help with her uninjured arm, checking her arm again and figuring she'll live to fight another day.

"So, what now?" she had finally been accepted, at least by some of the command staff – she was eager to get into the fight once again.

"First, you get your arm looked at, then you get some downtime," Genry told her. "A few of the other officers and I are meeting in the bar tonight – our last chance before the fleet ships out tomorrow. You'd be welcome to join us."

Eryn gave an amused snort, shaking her head gently.

"Really? An ex-IMC Pilot, joining the Militia officers at the bar? The obvious problems with that notwithstanding, who says I even get to keep my rank?"

"Briggs does," he told her. "She told me that if you check out, you keep your rank. The Militia is short on experienced Pilots, so the last thing we want to do is take an experienced Pilot and stick her in with the grunts. May as well make use of your command experience as well."

Eryn had to agree with that, and yet she was still concerned that her defection would be viewed with suspicion. It had never been uncommon in humanity's assorted conflicts to appear to defect, for the sake of obtaining information, but she couldn't fight for the IMC any longer and hope to be able to look at herself in the mirror. She'd heard rumours that they had found... _something,_ not of human origin and incomprehensibly powerful. Something that could potentially destroy an entire planet, and she knew that with that level of power, the IMC would systematically destroy world after world through the Frontier, until the Militia finally gave up. Add to that their persistent use of mercenaries, including Kuben Blisk's Apex Predators whom she'd never liked, and she could see where her loyalties lay. If she was going to fight, she'd fight for the side that refused to resort to such heavy-handed, cowardly methods.

"However, before we do that, there is one last thing we need to sort out."

Eryn raised an eyebrow, brushing a strand of flame-red hair from her face as she looked at the captain.

"Oh?" She hoped he meant what she was thinking of. There was more to

being a Pilot than having the augmentations, the jumpkit and the skills. In fact, Eryn felt that it was the part that _made_ someone a Pilot.

"It's time to meet your Titan."

A thrill of anticipation ran down her spine as they passed into the Titan hangar, and she gazed in awe at the Vanguard-class Titans standing in their racks. Pure Militia technology, the Vanguard was a true multi-role Titan – able to adapt its weapon loadout on the fly, it was a fearsome opponent, and it could take a hell of a beating and still keep fighting. She knew, because she'd fought one in her previous Titan, one of the relatively new Ions.

She'd barely survived the encounter, and her Titan certainly hadn't.

She couldn't help but notice the hateful glares she was getting from the technicians and other pilots, and while she understood them, they still hurt. She was here to help them, to fight for them, and they refused to see past that.

It probably didn't help that she still hadn't had her armour repainted yet.

"I can't stress how much I objected to this decision," Genry told her, and she frowned at the comment. Had she not proven her skills? Her worth to the Militia? Were they still so adamant about not trusting her?

As it turned out, that had not been the reason for his concern.

"The Monarch is our newest Titan, a variant of the Vanguard," he explained. "They're meant to be reserved for our elite Pilots, and some of our command staff. But we simply don't have any others to give you, and we need you out there."

As they stopped in front of the Monarch that was to be hers, Eryn could see the shared design elements between it and the Vanguard.

The central chassis was almost identical, with the optical array situated in a small, horizontal cylinder housing at the front and top of the 'chest'. The main difference, however, was the extended sides of the rear engine unit, giving it a peculiar hunched appearance while making it a better platform for team-mates.

Genry motioned to the nearby technicians, who promptly brought the titan back online, the blue light of the data core rapidly growing in intensity. The optical cluster moved as the titan 'looked' at its surroundings, stopping when it settled on Eryn, and the immense machine lunched towards her, driving its fist towards her.

Genry pulled her out of the way just in time, and the titan smashed a small crater into the hangar floor as the two officers got to their feet.

"Steady, Evie," he told it, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

" _ **You are IMC,"**_ it intoned, its melodic female voice carrying no inflection, yet Eryn still felt she was being judged harshly by the machine.

"I was," she told it, "but I'm not anymore. I can't stay with them in good conscience, not after all they've done."

There was a moment of silence as the titan – 'Evie', Genry had called it – seemed to consider her words.

" _ **Irrelevant,"**_ it announced, before the optical array shifted towards Genry. _**"Captain, I must object. You know why I must refuse a link with this pilot. I will not link with someone who killed Pilot Tromey."**_

"That wasn't her, Evie," Genry argued firmly, although the titan cut him off before he could continue.

" _ **It was the IMC. She is IMC. She is guilty by association. I object to this link,"**_ she stated, and Aidan shook his head.

"We don't have that luxury, Evie. She's been vetted by Commander Briggs and myself. We vouch for her. She is going to help us fight to defend the Frontier, and you _are_ going to link with her to make that happen. She needs a titan, you need a pilot and we don't have enough of either to carry on this pointless arguing. The decision is made, Evie."

" _ **Very well,"**_ Evie said after a moment, _**"but I do not have to like it."**_

"Good girl," Genry told the titan. "Transfer authorisation to new pilot, link Echo Victor Five-Four-Five-Four," he called out to the machine. "I'll give you two some time to get acquainted, then I'll see you at the officer's bar, Eryn."

He walked off with a jaunty salute, and Eryn turned at last to face her titan – now her greatest ally, and already filled with loathing for her. Despite 'her' arguments, the titan nonetheless altered position, the chest section opening up to allow Eryn access.

"I guarantee you, Evie, I'm on your side," Eryn told the titan as the chest plate closed up again.

" _ **That remains to be seen,"**_ it answered, and Eryn hurried to pull on her helmet. _**"Initiating link."**_

There was a building of light, a flash and a stab of pain in her brain, and once again she felt the familiar, ice-cold machine presence in the back of her mind, her link to the consciousness within the immense titan she now piloted.

"We should run a few sims before I turn in," Eryn told her new partner, noticing her helmet displayed Evie's full designation – EV-5454. "We have a lot to learn about each other if we're going to be a team."

" _ **Do not expect it to be a gratifying experience for me,"**_ Evie responded, and Eryn could feel the cold loathing in her mind.

She shook her head, guiding the war machine towards the simulation area, hoping that they would overcome their differences quickly.

If not, it was going to be a short war.


End file.
